if you're still breathing
by Faerie0975
Summary: the first time that primrose everdeen was reaped, she was spared. now, five years later, her name is drawn again; and katniss can't save her, not this time. / au: only follows the first book. formerly called 'danger.' / on hiatus.
1. through the fallout

Chapter 1

My eyelids flutter open. I'm still not used to living in Katniss' big, luxurious house, even after five years. I turn my head on the fluffy pillow. Buttercup, the cat that I found almost dead back when we lived in the Seam, is lying on the mattress next to me. The mattress is much different than what I had up until Katniss and Peeta won the 74th Hunger Games. I used to sometimes share Katniss' bed, sometimes my mother's. Even when Katniss was away at the Games after the reaping, I didn't take her bed; I didn't feel safe alone. Now I'm used to Buttercup being the only living thing in my room while I sleep. I know that Katniss is just down the hall, and my mother next door, so I feel safe enough.

I sit up in bed, pushing back the thick covers -- again, so different from what I used to have... before. I pull on a robe and slippers and shuffle downstairs to the kitchen, full of its shiny silver appliances and the well-stocked pantry. I pull a soft roll out of the basket on the counter and bite into it.

"Sleep well?" Katniss is coming through the wide doorway, blinking sleepily. She yawns and stretches, then pours herself a glass of orange juice. I think back to the old days in the Seam; endless mornings of hunger, only water to drink... I'm so glad that our life is better now. Then I remember all the families still living in the Seam, who have lost family members to the coal mines and to the hunger.

"I guess so," I say finally. "Can I come with you on the morning rounds today?"

Every morning, Katniss fills a few of her old game bags with food and goes around the district, handing out food to the hungry. She has her priorities; usually Gale's family, and Greasy Sae at the Hob. But she always tries to spread it out. One day she'll go to one family, the next day she'll go to another. She doesn't like to favour anybody. Sometimes I go with her.

"Sure," she says agreeably, putting her empty glass in the sparkling silver sink. She takes two of the game bags off a hook on the door to the pantry, then starts stuffing rolls and cans of soup into it. She tries to take only healthy things, but occasionally she will take some treats to the district kids.

And so, around half an hour later, we set out. We manage to carry double the amount that Katniss usually takes, what with me to carry a couple of bags, as well.

The only thing wrong with Katniss' house in the Victors' Village is that it's so _far_ from the main part of District 12. And there aren't very many houses filled. First is Haymitch, Katniss and Peeta's mentor from when they entered the Games. Then there's Katniss, me, and our mother in one. And Peeta, the male tribute from District 12 when Katniss volunteered to take my place five years ago. That was the one year that the Gamemakers decided to let two people win the Games, to please the audience. The audience didn't want one of the star-crossed lovers to die. Katniss told me when she returned that it had all been an act -- on _her_ part, at least. For Peeta, it had all been real. He sort of shut Katniss out upon their return to District 12, keeping up the love pretense for the cameras when the Victor's Tour rolled around. On the tour, he proposed to her in front of the cameras, at an interview with Caesar Flickerman, but they can't get married for another year or two, because Mother won't let Katniss get married. She's only 21. But now she seems to have really fallen for Peeta. It doesn't seem to be an act anymore.

The only other house in the Victors' Village belongs to the daughter of a tailor, Haven Tenerson, who won a few years back by sheer luck. She used the strategy that a lot of people with no fighting skills use -- weak, innocent, not worth killing straight off the bat. She pretty much did nothing for the whole Games, just sat in a tree, waiting for the others to kill themselves off. She managed to survive okay, eating nuts and berries and switching trees every couple of days, finding water along the way so that she didn't dehydrate. Then, when there was only her and one other contestant left, she took loads and loads of stones up into the tree with her and waited for him to find her. Then she threw the stones down at the District 9 boy and was crowned the winner of the 76th Hunger Games. She mostly keeps to herself, going out for walks occasionally. She never has anybody come over, and she refused to let her parents move in with her, although she was only thirteen when she won.

"Reaping's tomorrow," says Gale's mother, Hazelle, when we stopped by at their house. Posy, who was now nine years old, was just leaving for school.

"Yes," says Katniss tiredly, "another student for me..." The victors have come up with a system for the mentors. They have one mentor for the male tribute, one mentor for the female tribute. Peeta and Katniss always have the same years, leaving Haymitch to pair up with helpless, _useless_ Haven Tenerson.

"I wonder who will be picked as tributes," Hazelle says, gratefully accepting the food that Katniss handed her. For several years now, Hazelle and her oldest son, Gale -- Katniss' best friend -- have been the providers for the family of five. Gale's father died in a mine explosion, just like my father did.

The next day, Katniss goes on her morning rounds alone. Mother forces me to stay home and get ready for the reaping. Everybody looks their best for the reaping, even though it's a rather grim practice. She hands me a dress to get into. It goes down to just above my knees, well-fitted in the torso, thin straps and a zipper up the back. Then she pulls half of my hair back and ties it in place with a long, raspberry-red ribbon to match the dress, and finds a pair of shoes in the closet; pretty, black, low heels. Then, since it looks to be colder outside than it has been in the past few days, she picks out a knitted black sweater.

Katniss returns moments after I finish getting ready, and my mother and I wait for her as she changes into some nicer clothing than the jeans and t-shirt that she customarily wears on her rounds. Then we take a walk down to the main square by the Justice Building for the reaping.

Since the victors receive more than enough food monthly, I've never needed to put my name in for the tessarae like many teenagers in District 12. My name is in the big, clear ball six times now, one for each year since I turned twelve. Last year, my name had been on five slips of paper; so different than Katniss when she was sixteen. Katniss had put her name in four times each year: once because she had to, and three times for the tessarae for herself, me, and our mother.

The mayor -- the father of a friend of Katniss', Madge -- stands up and reads the list of past District 12 winners. The first, the one that won before Haymitch did, died many years ago. "Danielle Moorely. Haymitch Abernathy. Katniss Everdeen. Peeta Mellark. Haven Tenerson." Katniss and Peeta and the others file onto the platform, smiling. The Capitol, the place in charge, requires us to regard this horrific annual event as some kind of celebration. It's sick, really.

Effie Trinket, who has been the escort for the tributes of District 12 for several years, since before Katniss had taken my place, jumps up excitedly.

"Happy Hunger Games!" she begins, the same way as always. "And may the odds be _ever_ in your favour!" This year, her curly wig is orange. "Ladies first!" she says in a singsong voice, heading across the platform to the girls' ball of names. She reaches in, fumbling and pulling out one slip of paper.

My heart beats faster and faster. Will it be one of my friends?

"Primrose Everdeen."

***

_**Author's Note: **__So, what do you think? This is kind of new for me, writing in present tense... So this is kind of alternate-universe, what with Catching Fire not happening in this story, because I just finished Catching Fire today, and I was so mad that it was kind of a cliffhanger ending, and the next one not coming out for a while... :( And I wanted to have District 12 still exist, because I want everything to be normal. For those who have read the Hunger Games, pretend that the Quarter Quell was more normal... That Catching Fire didn't really exist, the rebellion didn't exist. I know it's kind of depressing, but maybe I'll make it so that President Snow died or something, so he can't be all evil. :)_


	2. help me sleep tonight

Chapter 2

I see Katniss' mouth fall open, her eyes widening in horror. This is her worst nightmare.

_Primrose Everdeen._

I try to picture all the people in the Capitol, watching this later today. How will they feel about the girl who was on fire's sister being selected for the Hunger Games? Will they be happy? Crestfallen? Katniss' interview with Caesar Flickerman pops into my head, replaying just like it did on television five years ago, played live from the Capitol onto the television in Peeta's father's bakery. My mother and I had stayed there for several nights in a row, occasionally returning to our own house in the Seam, but always going back the next day to continue the viewing of the Hunger Games. School and work are always canceled during the Games, so that everybody in every district can watch the tributes fighting and dying until the one survivor is crowned victor.

_"Let's go back, then, to the moment they called your sister's name at the reaping,"_ Caesar Flickerman had said, smiling good-naturedly after Katniss told him that she couldn't say what she'd done to impress the Gamemakers and pull that eleven. _"And you volunteered. Can you tell us about her?"_

The cameras had zoomed in on Katniss' perfectly made-up face. I remember thinking that she looked so different than she had when she left District 12 on the train. Her eyebrows were plucked to thin, perfect lines, her eyes surrounded by dark eyeshadows and eyeliners.

_"Her name's Prim. She's just twelve. And I love her more than anything."_

"Primrose Everdeen?" asks Effie Trinket, peering into the crowd. I haven't moved. I'm frozen in shock, grouped up with the other girls my age. This isn't possible. My name is only in the ball six times, six times in thousands of little slips of paper. But I realize that the odds have never been in my favour. Ever since my name got drawn out of the ball when I was only twelve years old, when my name was only one slip of paper.

I'm brought back to Earth when Liliana Harvey gives me a little push towards the platform. Her perfectly-manicured nails scratch my arm through the knitted black sweater I'm wearing. I step forward.

Last time I was in this situation, it wasn't so hard. I had walked stiffly but confidently up to Effie Trinket, been calmly prepared for my fate. Until Katniss volunteered to take my place. Then my heart had sped and my breath had caught in my throat. But this time around, I had to force my feet to drag me up to the platform. I barely notice Effie Trinket calling my name happily, adjusting her bright orange wig, and asking for volunteers. It is customary to ask for volunteers, even though the only person I've ever known to volunteer in District 12 is Katniss. In the other districts, volunteering isn't so rare. Some districts -- mostly 1, 2 and 4 -- make it a big thing to be selected as tributes, give victors all the glory in the world, so that everyone _wants_ to be in the Games. The tributes from these districts usually make up the Careers, the ruthless killers of the Games.

I feel sure that Katniss is going to jump up, gasping, "I volunteer! I volunteer to be tribute!" But she can't. Not only is she over eighteen, but she's also done that once before. You can never enter the arena twice. You either win, or you die. I get the feeling that Katniss would take my place again, if she could, but she can't. And no one steps forward to take this great weight off of my shoulders. So Effie Trinket smiles and crosses to the boys' ball of names and extracts one slip of paper. She unfolds it slowly and reads out in a loud, clear voice:

"Vick Hawthorne."

My eyes seek out Vick in the crowd. Fourteen years old, dark hair, dark eyes, quite muscular. Very like his oldest brother in that way. Gale. I see Hazelle, Vick's mother, standing with the rest of District 12. Nine-year-old Posy, standing next to her, already has tears running down her cheeks. Hazelle does not cry. Her eyes are fixed on Effie Trinket, on the slip of paper grasped between Effie's fingers, her lips pressed together into a thin line. On Posy's other side stands Gale, twenty-two years old, the exact image of Vick. My eyes rake up and down the sections of boys, aged twelve through eighteen. The first Hawthorne I see there is Rory, two years older than Vick. Rory, unlike Vick and Gale, is not muscular at all. A skinny shrimp of a boy, he has the same dark hair and eyes as his brothers, but he would have no chance in the Games. He would never volunteer to take his brother's place. Hazelle would go insane worrying for him. Then my eyes fall on Vick, who I will always say as eight years old, like he was the day when I met him six years ago.

He walks stiffly up to the platform, past the solemn crowds of people, the people who are silently rejoicing on the inside; they haven't been chosen. Not this year.

Vick and I are ushered into the Justice Building. Up the wide, red-carpeted staircase. Down a high-ceilinged corridor with tall windows placed at even intervals. And into two rooms, one straight across the hall from the other. The room I am taken into has a midnight-blue carpet, white walls, a pristine white couch. A skylight lets the grey light in. I'm on the highest floor of the Justice Building. I sit down to collect myself, but before I can, my mother enters the room. And, very suddenly, I remember this room. It is the room that my mother and I visited Katniss in before she left on the train for the Capitol, the arena, the Games. Hazelle, Gale, Rory and Posy must be across the hall this very minute, saying their goodbyes to Vick. My mother sits beside me on the couch and wraps me in her arms.

Seventeen like I am, I should be handling this better. But I can't. It's the Hunger Games, for crying out loud! And I've just been selected for the second time since I turned twelve years old.

Why does the Capitol do this? Take away the children of every district to be executed by other districts' children? Force worried parents to watch their children fight and die on live television? Entertain the whiskered, green-lipped, tattooed people of the Capitol in this sick way? I know the answer from years of schoolwork. It's because of District 13.

"I can't do this," I sob into my mother's shoulder. "I just can't!" I know that if Katniss hadn't volunteered for me five years ago, I would have been calm, collected, and confident at this point.

My mother strokes my golden-blonde hair. "You just have to do your best, Prim. You have to come back."

"I will, Mom. I promise."

After my mother leaves, Hazelle and her remaining children enter. Posy's still crying silent tears. Rory seems in shock. I can tell he's wishing that he'd volunteered to take Vick's place. I've seen the same expression on Katniss' face in my nightmares, nightmares full of volunteering being forbidden and Katniss being unable to protect me the first time that I was selected. Gale's fists are clenching and unclenching. Hazelle appears to be calm, but I know that her heart must be breaking on the inside. I wouldn't blame her if she just collapsed, weeping, on the floor this very minute. But she just asks me to try to look after Vick, who's three years younger than me. I know that Vick will object to being 'babysat,' but I promise Hazelle that I'll do my best.

Katniss' friend Madge, the mayor's daughter, comes in next. At first I'm surprised; Madge is Katniss' friend, not mine. Madge and I talk for a few minutes. She tells me that she'll miss me and leaves with a customary, "May the odds be ever in your favour."

My next visitors are my school friends -- Liliana, Chelsey, Liyah and Wing.

Liliana, the classic nice-but-secretly-scheming-behind-your-back-type, gives me a sugar-sweet, "I'm so sorry, Prim. I'll miss you." Then she flounces over to a window and observes the square below, made-up eyelids cast downwards. Rich enough to be a victor, Liliana's father sells almost anything _necessary._ Anybody could get it for cheaper down at the Hob, but Mr Harvey tells everyone that his items have 'special powers.' Katniss has never fallen for that, but at least half of District 12 has.

Chelsey, brown-haired and blue-eyed and the type of girl that all the guys like because she's so happy and bubbly and adorable. She sits down and pats me on the back and tells me that I have to do my best, and that I have to try and come home.

"But I've promised Vick's mother that I'll keep Vick safe," I say miserably. "The Capitol won't let two people win again."

Liyah has extremely tanned skin, reddish-brown hair and grey eyes. She hugs me for a solid two minutes, neither of us saying anything at all. Then she just gets up and joins Liliana at the window. Liyah isn't that great at expressing emotions or anything to that extent, I know that. I've known that for nine years now.

Wing, my best friend out of the four of them, sits next to me. She blinks her emerald-green eyes at me sympathetically and I see the tears filling them.

"I'm going to miss you, Prim," she says sadly. "I wish I could've volunteered to go to the Games instead of you, but I can't leave my family." Wing's mother and father both died five years ago, and Wing and her six younger siblings moved in with their grandmother. Wing is five years older than the oldest of them, Stone, who is twelve years old last month, and their grandmother isn't that reliable for taking care of young children, so Wing is in charge. Their house is one of Katniss' regular stops on her morning rounds.

I hug Wing. "I understand," I say softly. "I know you can't leave Stone and the little ones. I'll try and come back, I promise."

A Peacekeeper knocks on the door and pokes his head in. "Time for the little lady friends to leave," he announces. "Miss Everdeen, it's time to go."

And within minutes, Vick and I are stepping onto the train, along with Effie Trinket, Katniss, and Peeta, waving goodbye to our friends and families as the train carries us away.

***

_**Author's Note: **__I'm trying to do long-ish chapters, I was thinking to maybe end it when Prim was promising her mother that she'd do her best in the Games, but I got another whole page done! Yay! Thanks to the people who reviewed the first chapter: kaydee-babe, Marionettes, Ichigh0st, vampirelovers345, and also thanks to anyone who added this story to their story alert and favourite stories! It makes me get this warm, tingly feeling when I see the emails with reviews and story alerts and favourite stories... :)_


	3. i was born this way

Chapter 3

I've never seen such a big train in my life, and Katniss says it's not even that big. There's a narrow corridor leading down the middle of the entire length of the train, with rooms on either side of the corridor. Effie waves away Katniss and Peeta, telling them to go and rest, and leads Vick and I down the train.

"I've been hoping to be promoted to a better district for quite a while now," she says conversationally. "Just think! The sister of the girl who was on fire. That's twice you've been drawn now!"

_Yes,_ I think. _I know that._

"Be ready for dinner in an hour," she orders. "Everything is at your disposal. Use anything you like!" Then she goes back along the train, and Vick and I enter our respective quarters.

Altogether, my quarters are about as big as my bedroom back at Katniss' house in the Victors' Village, which is pretty impressive for a train. There's a bedroom, a curtained dressing area, and a bathroom. I take a hot shower -- something I've only recently gotten accustomed to -- and dress in long black pants and an orange shirt with flowers stenciled onto the front. Then I sit on the bed, watching out the window as the scenery zooms by at 250 miles an hour, until Katniss knocks on the door to get me for dinner. On the way down to the dining car, we are silent. The dining car is full of breakable dishes and expensive, luxurious food. Effie's sitting at the head of the table, sipping water. Katniss and I sit beside each other.

"Where's Peeta? And the other tribute?" Effie asks.

"Vick," says Katniss. "They should be coming."

Sure enough, the two of them arrive just after the tomato soup arrives. Avox servants bring us our food, just like Katniss described to us. I don't recognize anybody. I'm thankful for that much.

The soup is richer than anything I've every tasted, even with all the expensive canned soups I keep finding in the pantry back home. I watch as Katniss grins mischevously at Effie, then slurps each spoonful of her soup up loudly. Peeta laughs. Effie sighs.

"You know, Katniss," says Effie, "you don't _have_ to eat like a savage. Just because of that one little remark that first year..."

"She does this every year," explains Peeta, still chuckling.

Katniss eats all the rest of her meal -- the salad, the steak, the cheese and fruit, the rich pie and whipped cream -- in much the same way.l Then, with a final flourish, she wipes her hands on the pure white tablecloth. Effie shakes her head in disappointment.

Then we all gather in the next car to watch the recap of the reaping in all twelve districts. Katniss is writing down notes; she's become very serious about the Games.

There are a few that I take particular notice of, but I'm sure that Katniss will have written down something about each and every tribute. Sure enough, the second the screen goes black, she starts talking.

"That girl from District 1 looks pretty strong. She'll be with the Careers, for sure. Same with the boy from her district. The young girl from District 2 looks a bit helpless, but you can't judge a book by its cover. District 2's boy also looks pretty deadly, I think he'll be a Career," Katniss begins. "That young blonde girl -- District 3 -- she kind of reminds me of Rue." She falls silent for a minute. "Then there's that boy from District 3, he looks like he might be dangerous. Then both the District 4 tributes will be with the Careers. That District 5 girl looks kind of like Foxface, don't you think, Peeta?" Peeta nods and Katniss continues. "She's probably pretty sneaky. Her fellow tribute, that older boy, I couldn't figure out much about him. And the girl from 6 -- who knows about her, kind of timid-looking. And the boy from her district looks pretty lethal. Then there's that girl from 7, she doesn't look like a fighter. Neither does her fellow tribute. There's a lot of young girls this year, that girl from 8, she looks pretty uncertain about everything. Then that young boy from 8, too. Couldn't pick up much on him. Then the girl from 9 looks pretty strong for being only fourteen, same with the boy from 9. District 10 doesn't look like it has much to offer. And the District 11 tributes will probably know a lot about what plants are edible and camouflaging, and they'll be good at climbing trees, most likely. Like Rue." Finally, Katniss stops talking, exhausted.

"Was I supposed to memorize all that?" I ask after a long silence.

Peeta laughs. "No, that's just her usual debriefing of the reapings. You two should get some sleep," he says, examining Vick and I. "Long day tomorrow. You're going to meet your stylists, and then it's the opening ceremonies."

So Vick and I wordlessly walk back down the train. I stop in front of my door and turn to Vick, and finally speak to him for the first time since the day before the reaping.

"See you tomorrow."

"Sleep well," he replies, and shuts himself into his quarters.

_See you tomorrow... _How could I say such a pointless thing? One day, probably one day _soon,_ one of us was going to wake up and the other wouldn't be there. _See you tomorrow..._

I wake up to a hammering on the door. I climb sleepily out of bed and stumble over to the door to see who it is. The second I open the door, a group of three Capitol people burst into the room and start to examine me.

"At least she's _clean,_" says one finally. She has shimmering skin dyed a bright, shiny gold, and pin-straight black hair.

"So _hairy,_ though," sighs another. This one is male... I think. He has long-ish, curly blue hair and black tattoos plastered all over his body, patterning it with thick stems and leaves and thorns.

The third one is silent for a while. She is the most normal-looking of the three, with skin dyed an yellowish-orange close to a regular skin tone, and the only feature about her that is completely and utterly inhuman is her bright purple hair. Finally she takes a deep breath and claps her hands together. "Well, let's get her decent!" she cries excitedly. "Kalira," she says to the first one, "run a bath for her." The black-haired one rushes into the bathroom while the other two strip my clothes off until there's nothing left and continue to scrutinize me.

"Bath's ready," says Kalira breathlessly, appearing in the doorway to the bathroom. I'm vaguely aware that the train has stopped moving; the steaming green liquid in the bathtub doesn't move an inch as I eye it apprehensively. "Well, go on, get in!" So I climb into the bathtub. The green mixture proves to be very thick. I end up taking three more baths after this one. The next is filled with a yellowish, watery substance that resembles urine. After that, the three of them put me in a tub full of what looks, feels and, judging by how much I swallowed, tastes like milk. Finally I got a bath of plain old water. The whole time, the prep team was scrubbing me and rubbing endless amounts of gunk into my hair and chattering eagerly. After the baths, they sit me down and start to pull every particle of hair out of my body, plucking my eyebrows to perfection and rubbing moisturizing lotions onto my legs and arms once they're finished. Then I'm forced to sit there for almost two hours as the one with the purple hair styles my blonde locks. Meanwhile, the tattooed one is applying foundations eyeshadows and eyeliners and blushes and lip glosses to my previously-naked face, and Kalira -- the only one that I know the name of -- paints each toenail and fingernail on my body a shimmering silver. The whole time, I'm sitting on a cushioned chair, stark naked, trying not to move because I don't want the curling iron that the purple-haired one is using to burn me.

Finally they take a step back and eye me appreciatively.

"She looks beautiful!" sighs Kalira happily. "Good job on her hair, Zailey!"

The one with the purple hair -- Zailey -- smiles gratefully. "Thanks, Kalira. I like what you've done with the make-up, Telandor."

The male one thanks her and, with some effort, the three of them hold up a big mirror so that I can see myself. I still don't have any clothes on, but the rest of me looks absolutely stunning. My light blonde hair is fashioned into elegant curls, and my blue eyes are surrounded by layers of eyeshadows that make them look big and kind of mysterious.

"You're ready to meet your stylist!" says Zailey, with a smile that stretches from one yellowish-orange ear to the other. "Let's go get him!"

I still don't know who my stylist is. I am sure that Katniss knows, but she hasn't told me. I wait nervously. A few years ago, when Katniss was in the Games, she had this amazing stylist, Cinna. I've met him a few times. He had come up with all of the most original ideas, making Katniss be remembered forever as the girl who was on fire; right before the opening games, she and Peeta had both been practically lit on fire. But a few years before that, there had been a stylist who had both the tributes completely naked and covered with coal dust. I wonder what I'll end up in. Hopefully something that covers up some particular areas I don't wish to show in public.

The door opens and my stylist enters, smiling.

"Cinna!" I cry happily, leaping out of my chair and running to hug him. A split second too late, I realize that I'm completely naked and screech to a halt.

"Prim," he says with a grin. "Take a seat." So I do, hastily wrapping a fluffy white robe around myself.

"How did you get back to District 12?" I ask eagerly. After his debut with Katniss, he had been quickly promoted to District 1, which is considered the best district out there, what with the jewel industry.

"I asked to come back," he says, and leaves it at that. "Now, the opening ceremonies... Let's see..."

***

_**Author's Note: **__Another chapter done! Thanks to the people who took the time to review -- Ichigh0st, vampirelovers345, grangergal101, Marionettes, toffeecakesxox., DobbyWobby. Also, thank you to anyone who added this story to their Favourites or Story Alert. Now, back to business: Any ideas for Prim and Vick's opening ceremony outfits? Tell me, I'm begging of you! I need something original... I have a plan for Prim's interview outfit, but I'm drawing a blank on the opening ceremonies. I need ideas!_


	4. shining like fireworks

Chapter 4

I stand as still as I can while Zailey, Kalira and Telandor pluck out every millimeter of hair that has grown on my body since lunchtime. They've washed off my extravagant makeup, saying that it wasn't good enough for what Cinna was planning, and they were now redoing my hair and makeup. Finally, they step back again. They make me close my eyes and I hear them rush out of the room. I don't open my eyes. I'm busy trying to think about what Cinna could possibly be planning for the opening ceremonies. The ceremonies will start in less than an hour. After a moment, I hear my prep team run back into the room with Cinna. There is a rustling of fabric and a curious sound of metal banging into something.

They help me into the outfit since it must be extremely fragile, and because my eyes are still closed. Then I hear Cinna telling me to open my eyes.

My hair is straight as a pin, the blonde locks streaked with charcoal black. The layers and layers of eyeshadows around my eyes still make my eyes look mysterious, but now Telandor has created a kind of smoky effect. And the _dress..._ It's the shape of one of those dresses that princesses wore long, long ago, in the 1600's or something. Big skirt, tight bodice. The top of the dress is a curious fabric that changes colours rapidly, like a fire. Red, orange, yellow. I shift slightly, and the colours seem to move faster, swirling around and making me feel dizzy. The skirt continues down, tight to my legs but with just enough room for me to walk comfortably, underneath the _real_ skirt. This skirt explains the metallic sounds that I heard before. It is the shape of those big skirts on those dresses so long ago, but it is made of iron or some other dark metal. The metal is carved into strange designs so that you can see through it to the fiery colours of the tighter skirt.

For a moment, I'm only confused. What is Cinna's plan? A metal skirt and fiery colours. And streaks of black through my hair. I glance curiously at Cinna, wondering what he has in mind.

His eyes register my question. "We're going with something that relates to Katniss and Peeta's costumes," he explains. "You know -- where there's smoke, there's fire."

I turn my head slightly, frowning. Where there's smoke, there's fire. Well, when Katniss was in the Games, she was the girl who was on fire. That's how she's referred to sometimes. So that must mean that I am smoke. But then, why the fiery colours? Is the smoky-eye look and the black streaks in my hair enough to resemble smoke?

Cinna gives me a small smile. "You don't understand," he observes.

I shake my head quickly.

"There will be smoke," he says. "Under the metal skirt. Some of it will escape around you, but not enough to hide you from sight. You understand now?"

I nod, but there is one thing I am wondering. "What about Vick? Will he be somehow... matching? Like Katniss and Peeta matched?"

Cinna nods. "Portia's back, too, did Katniss tell you?" He doesn't wait for an answer. "She's Vick's stylist. I'm not sure exactly what she's going to do for him, but it's going to have smoke, too... We'll see soon enough, anyhow."

Zailey helps me into a pair of black heels. Then Cinna and my prep team lead me down the corridor of the train, which has long since pulled into the station. We will not be staying in the Training Center until after the opening ceremonies end.

Vick and the other tributes are all there, in the big, airy room which all the trains from each district have arrived. Everyone's dressed up in a way that represents their district. The District 4 tributes are draped in fish nets. The District 1 tributes are covered in jewels. For some reason, the two District 7 tributes, from the district of construction, are wearing all black, with coloured streamers hanging off of them. One of their stylists is lighting a match. I wonder if the District 7 stylists are actually thinking that flames have something to do with construction, or if they're just copying Cinna and Portia's idea from five years ago.

I focus on Vick, trying to figure out what he's wearing. His chest is bare, which I find somehow amusing because I've never seen him not bundled up in more than three layers of clothing. Even though Katniss and my mother and I are now living in comfort, helping whoever we can, Vick's entire family still lives in the Seam. Granted, they are doing a lot better now, what with Katniss' gifts to them, but food and money doesn't buy you everything when you're in the Seam. Around Vick's chest is an iron cage similar to my skirt. I think that it will look less strange once the smoke is swirling about inside the iron cage; right now it just looks silly. His dark hair has no streaks in it, but his pants are the same fabric as the top of my dress.

Zailey, Kalira and Telandor help us up into the District 12 carriage. I try to ignore the other tributes, who are all staring at Vick and I, obviously wondering what our costumes are supposed to be. I wonder if Katniss got stares like this before the opening ceremonies, when she was about to be set on fire.

Cinna climbs up into the carriage as the District 1 carriage begins to move out. I hear the crowds shouting.

Cinna adjusts my hair and smiles at us. "Smile," he says. He takes our hands and puts them together. I lock my fingers around Vick's, remembering my promise to Hazelle. Then, as the District 8 carriage begins to move forward, Portia climbs up too. She and Cinna begin to press buttons that I didn't know were there. The buttons are all over the inside of the iron cages, undetectable to the eye, but Cinna and Portia seem to know exactly where each one is. As they step back, eying us with appreciation, the District 10 carriage begins to move. It's our turn to go out there soon, in front of all those Capitol people with their strange accents and fashions. The buttons on our outfits begin to let out smoke, slowly, slowly. The smoke swirls inside the iron cages and little tendrils of smoke begin to escape. It doesn't smell like smoke; in fact, it doesn't smell like anything. Cinna and Portia hop out of the carriage and we begin to roll forward.

I'm vaguely aware of the screaming crowds as all of the faces turn away from the District 11 tributes -- dressed in garments made of leaves, I think; my vision is slightly clouded from the smoke. The shouting grows louder as they begin to notice us. Vick's hand tightens around mine. I glance at him; he's grimacing nervously. I give him an encouraging smile as the carriage lines up next to the other districts. President Trustell begins to speak. She is a middle-aged woman, distantly related to President Snow, who died a few years ago. President Trustell has short, white-blonde hair and piercing grey eyes. She makes announcements regularly on television, so it's easy to recognize her, even in the gathering darkness. The only lights to be seen are District 7's flames, flickering. The cameras are drinking up our images, trying to get footage of all twelve districts.

Soon enough, the opening ceremonies are over and the carriages begin to roll forward again, through the wide doors and straight into the Training Center, where we will be staying until the Games begin. Cinna and Portia and the prep teams are waiting for us, smiling brightly at their success. I see the District 7 stylists eying our costumes; probably planning to copy them, too.

Cinna and Portia lead Vick and I into the elevator. Our prep teams crowd in behind us, leaving no room for any other tributes. Portia presses the button labeled _12_ and the elevator begins to move upwards, quite smoothly. I think back to the only elevator I've ever ridden in before, the one in the Justice Building back home. I've ridden it three times in my life. Once when Katniss, my mother and I went to receive the medal after our father's death, once to say goodbye to Katniss before she left for the Capitol five years ago, and once after my name had been called for the second time in five years. That elevator was small. Cramped, dimly lit, moving as slowly as a slug. This elevator, however was different; it shot smoothly upwards, quickly, and didn't stop once until there was a soft _ding_ and the doors opened to reveal a big entrance hall area with a fancy carpet and potted plants in every corner. Down at the other end of the hall, I could see Katniss, Peeta and Effie sitting on big white couches. On both sides of the entrance hall were big, solid, dark brown doors leading to what I assumed to be my new quarters, along with Vick's, Cinna's, Portia's, Effie's, Katniss' and Peeta's.

Katniss stands up and hugs Vick and I. She congratulates Cinna and Portia on the costumes and makes small talk for a few minutes while Effie orders an Avox servant to get us all some drinks. The Avox boy returns a few minutes later. Katniss and Peeta smile and thank him before he returns to the kitchen. Effie turns on the television so that we can watch the opening ceremonies. I'm stunned by our appearances. I look beautiful, even more beautiful than I did when I looked in the mirror before the ceremonies. Vick and I seem so majestic, standing in our carriage with tendrils of smoke creeping around us and swirling beneath the iron cages. I notice that the cameras seem to return to Vick and I a lot, although not as much as they did when Katniss and Peeta were on fire five years ago. District 7 gets quite a bit of camera time. I wonder if that's because the cameramen liked them or because they wanted to show that District 7 were copying Katniss and Peeta. I notice that the District 7 tributes were holding hands, too.

I excuse myself and go to bed as soon as the recap of the ceremonies ends. I figure that I might as well get as much sleep as I can before the Games begin in a few days. Training will start tomorrow; I want to be well-rested for that.

I sleep without dreaming, waking as the sun begins to rise. Out in the main area of the District 12 quarters, all is quiet. Nobody else seems to be awake yet. I wander over to the long table filled with food and jump when I notice an Avox servant standing there, silent. I ask if I can eat. The servant doesn't speak -- of course not, her tongue is cut out -- but just nods. As I'm pouring myself a glass of juice, Katniss slips out of her room and joins me. We don't speak.

Effie comes out of her room, curly orange wig set on her head perfectly, just as I'm finishing my breakfast.

"Good morning!" she says cheerily. "Ready for training?"

I just shrug.

When I return to my room to get ready for training, someone has laid out clothes on the bed for me. I put on the black pants -- elastic waistband, easy to move in -- and the dark red tank top. The colour makes me think of blood. Katniss and Peeta are waiting for me out by the elevator. Vick comes out of his room a moment later, wearing black pants similar to mine and a dark red shirt. I wonder if Katniss and Peeta matched all the time when they were in the Games.

"Now," says Peeta as we get into the elevator. He presses the _T_ for the training level. "We want the two of you to stick together. Like siblings, say. Prim, you're the big sister in this picture. You take care of Vick."

"For now, avoid the combat stations. Concentrate on the survival stuff -- camouflage, medicines, things like that," Katniss adds. "And keep an eye out for anyone you think will be a useful ally."

The elevator gives another _ding_ and the doors slide open. Most of the other tributes are already there, standing all grouped together in silence. As the doors slide shut again and the elevator takes Katniss and Peeta away with it, they all turn to look at us. I see envy on some faces, jealousy on others. I give a small smile, take Vick's hand and begin to walk forward into the Training Center.

***

_**Author's Note: **__I can't believe I haven't updated in so long! School and dance and musical theater took over my life. I now have an order for updates: **Summer** (Twilight), **Mudblood **(Harry Potter), **Paisley **(Twilight) and then this one. Also, I had trouble deciding on Prim and Vick's opening ceremony costumes. I got so many great ideas from you guys, and also an idea from my BFFAEAEAE who just made an account on here, __**spellbinder112**__!!! And now, credit where credit is due. Thanks to __**Marionettes**__ for the "where there's smoke, there's fire" idea. __**Deevee White**__ and __**Ichigh0st**__ -- even though you didn't have any ideas for me... :P Thanks for reviewing! Thank you __**vampirelovers345**__, I didn't use all of your ideas but I did take the black streaks in Prim's hair, and the red/orange/yellow changing-colours fabric was a combination of ideas from you and __**DobbyWobby**__. Thanks everyone!_


	5. if it kills me

Chapter 5

Every single person in the Training Center is staring at us. I wonder if they stared at Katniss and Peeta like this. I doubt it. Nobody stares at Katniss and Peeta this way, if they can help it. That way that shows that they're aching to rip your heart out of your chest and hear the cannon that signals your death. I try to clear my head. What would Katniss do about it? Probably she would ignore it. Smile politely and keep walking and start to train. She would do exactly what she had told Vick and I to do today -- avoid combat stations, concentrate on the survival things and keep an eye out for allies. Katniss and Peeta had told us not to go to the combat stations for some reason that I do not know, but nevertheless a reason. And, knowing the two of them, it's a reason that I don't need to ask. A good reason. Because Katniss never has a bad reason for anything.

We wait while the Gamemakers explain what we can do in the Training Center. We are forbidden to attempt to engage in physical contact with any other tributes. Fighting before the Games begin is not allowed. There are dummies and professional instructors for us to practice our newfound skills on.

The Gamemakers release us from the clump in the center of the room and leave to stand around their table, stuffing their faces with delicacies while we prepare for our deaths. The time in the Training Center is not broadcasted onto live television; that is considered to give away the tributes' strengths and weaknesses.

I lead Vick over to the plants station. The instructor looks excited to have someone at her station. She tells us that a lot of people die during the Games either from eating the wrong things, or being too afraid to try the food that's sitting right in front of them. She says that there is a lot of food to be had in each arena, and you just have to know whatÕs safe and what isn't. She shows us the shapes of leaves and breaks the stems of a few plants to show us the inside. Sometimes, she says, you can tell if you can eat a plant just by looking at the inside of its stem. She gives us a test to see if we've learned what she's taught us, and Vick and I both pass with flying colours. Then we move onto knot-tying. Katniss once told me that this was the first station she went to during her time in the Training Center. We learn how to tie knots for traps and snares. Vick is much better at it than I am. A few minutes into our lesson, the District Two girl appears beside us. She is very petite, with bright red hair that hangs straight to her waist and pretty grey eyes. I glance over at the fencing station, where most of the Careers are swinging swords around. The black-haired boy who is also from District Two is staring across the room at us, his dark eyes narrowed.

Apparently, this girl has been rejected as a Career. She's probably 12 or 13, and I saw her at the archery station a few minutes ago. She hit the target every time. I wonder why the Careers don't want her.

I want her.

She would be a good ally, I think to myself, attempting to tie a complicated knot even though I hadn't been listening to the instructions. I end up with rope burn up and down my right arm and a tangle of rope on the table in front of me. Vick has tied the knot perfectly. The District Two girl has a knot in front of her that isnÕt nearly as good as Vick's but, on the other hand, a million times better than mine.

Before I know it, we've wasted away the morning and all the tributes are heading over to the food for lunch. The Careers push two tables together and sit around it. The District Seven tributes have a table to themselves and are laughing hysterically, but if I look at them closely, their eyes are emotionless. A group of other tributes -- the ones that have nobody to sit with -- are sitting around a couple of tables like the Careers, but they don't look at each other and they just stare at their food. Vick and I have just sat down and begun to eat our food when I hear someone clearing their throat and I look up.

The District Two girl looks embarrassed. "Um," she says, and clears her throat again, as if that will ease her awkwardness. "Do you mind if I sit here?"

"Not at all," says Vick, and the girl looks relieved. She sits down and starts to pick at her food in silence.

Another young girl -- District Three -- wanders over, and Vick invites her to sit with us, too. _Why do we seem to be attracting so many tiny, practically helpless children?_ I wonder. The District Eleven boy sits down with us, too. I see the girl from his district glaring at us.

"Well," Vick says, smiling, "I'm Vick Hawthorne. This is Prim Everdeen." He looks expectantly at the boy.

"Pine Polkins," he mumbles. He has dark skin, hair, and eyes, like Rue from Katniss' year in the Games.

"Emmalynn Carr," says the quiet girl from District Three, tucking a lock of long, white-blonde hair behind her ear. Her misty blue eyes are dreamy and slightly unfocussed, and she seems kind of unattached.

"I'm Carlisa," says the red-haired girl who joined us at the knot-tying station. "Almond. Carlisa Almond, that is." She blushes.

We make polite chit-chat until the Gamemakers usher us back to our training. I notice that wherever Vick and I go, the two young girls follow us. Pine joins us at a few stations, too.

"So," says Katniss when we come back to our floor, exhausted. "Find anyone you'd like as allies?"

"There's these two little girls," I mumble. "Carlisa and Emmalynn. Districts Two and Three. I like them."

"And Pine," adds Vick. "District Eleven."

Katniss smiles. "Are you two sure you want a lot of allies? I mean, the Pine kid sounds good, he's old enough to take care of himself, but those two little girls... They might just slow you down." She looks pained as she says this, and I can tell that she's remembering Rue.

"Was there anyone else?" asks Peeta briskly.

Vick and I shake our heads.

"How did they look? Did you get any strengths? Weaknesses?" he continues.

"Careers are looking good," I mumble. Katniss and Peeta nod, eyes searching for more information. "Both from District One, the boy from Two, the boy from Three, both from Four, and the girl from Seven."

"The girl from Seven?" Peeta looks confused. "District Seven isn't usually with the Careers."

Katniss raises an eyebrow at him. "Neither is District Twelve," she says pointedly. "Yet _you_ managed to get into their little group." She turns back to Vick and I. "Have you got anything else on the other tributes?"

"The boy from Five was really friendly to everyone," Vick offers. "And the girl from Ten did really well at the plants station."

Peeta nods and gives us a small smile. "You two should get some sleep," he says, leaving no room for argument. "Your interviews are tomorrow, and we're going to work with both of you to decide on what angle you're going to take."

Vick and I obediently troop off to our rooms. I lie in bed for a long time, staring up at the dark ceiling and trying to slow my breathing and relax enough to fall asleep. It's not working. My mind keeps wandering back to the Training Center, lingering on each tribute and thinking in full-on Hunger Games mode. Who is good at what? Who looks like they can take care of themselves? I think like this for several hours, and the tributes that I think about the most are Carlisa, Emmalynn and Pine. I want them as allies, no matter what Katniss says about Carlisa and Emmalynn slowing us down. Something about them reminds me of all those kids in every family that Katniss and I go to on our morning rounds. The hunger in their eyes, their helplessness. Their delight when we open up our bags and food spills out before their disbelieving eyes.

Now I'm thinking about home. I imagine that the past few days have all been a dream, and any moment I'll wake up. I'll go downstairs into the kitchen, pour myself a glass of orange juice and grab a roll out of the basket on the counter, like I do every morning. Katniss will come downstairs, too, and I'll offer to go on the morning rounds with her.

And just like that, I'm back to those kids. The way they hug me and Katniss so gratefully when we're on our way out the door, the satisfied expressions on their dirty little faces as they wolf down whatever food we've brought them. And how much these two girls in the Games remind me of them. Carlisa and Emmalynn. Carlisa looks so helpless, so innocent. Her big grey eyes just scream, _I'm only a child. I'm helpless. Innocent. Just a child._ But then I think about the way she handled the bow and arrow at the archery station this morning. Like she was completely at home once her petite fingers touched the wood and the bowstring. How quickly and easily she fit the arrow onto the bow and shot, how she hit the target dead center every time. She can defend herself, I think with a smile. She's not a waste of my time. I _need_ her as an ally. I know I can't fight. _Everyone_ knows I can't fight. I'm good with herbs and medicines and I can climb trees. I can run fast; I won lots of races in the Seam. But I can't fight.

And Emmalynn. She really _is_ helpless and innocent. A year younger than Carlisa, Emmalynn is one of two twelve-year-olds in this year's Games. I remember one year, a few years before Katniss was in the Games, when thirteen out of twenty-four tributes were under fourteen. That year, the Hunger Games were over very quickly.

But there's something about Emmalynn that tells me she _is_ a good prospecitive ally. She seems very practical, like she can come up with a way out of any situation. I think she's a good person to have on your side.

Then there's Pine. He's sixteen, a year younger than I am, and he seems really quiet. When we were at the camoflage station, he was there with us. It was one of the few stations that he joined us at. I remember that he did very well; the instructor was practically on her knees worshipping him.

What seems like moments later, my eyes are flickering open to a sudden bright light. I must have fallen asleep -- the sky is bright outside and Katniss is opening the heavy curtains to let light into every corner of the room.

"Wake up, sleepyhead," she grins, coming over and sitting down on the edge of my bed. "Breakfast time."

I groan. "I'm still tired."

"You were up half the night," she says. "I heard you tossing and turning every couple of minutes. You kept me up, too."

"Sorry," I say sheepishly.

She strokes my hair off of my forehead. "It's all right," she whispers. "Prim..." I get the feeling that there's something eating away at her inside, something she needs to say. One of those last-goodbye moments. I wait while she takes a deep breath and closes her eyes, as if to calm herself. Her eyes open and I brace myself for the flood of emotion. But she just says, "Come out to breakfast as soon as you're dressed," and leaves the room at top speed.

At breakfast, Katniss and Peeta fill us in on today's schedule. It's early in the morning; the sun just came up. I'll have an hour-long lesson on etiquette with Effie while Peeta helps Vick find his 'angle.' Then Katniss and I will find _my _angle while Effie gives Vick _his_ etiquette lesson. I shovel food into my mouth as fast as I can, feeling the hungriest I ever have since Katniss and Peeta returned from the Games five years ago.

Effie drills me for the full hour on everything from sitting with my back straight to walking smoothly across the room in five-inch heels. My ankles are killing me by the time I finally knock on Katniss' door.

The wooden panel swings open and Katniss drags me into her room. She sits me down on the bed and stares pensively for a full ten minutes. Finally she speaks. "I think you're going to be... mature."

"Mature?" I ask, frowning.

Katniss nods thoughtfully. "You're going to be very grown-up about the whole thing. No tears, no childishness. Very protective, especially of Vick. He's your little-brother figure. You take care of him. You're going to be incredibly mature."

I nod, trying to get my head around the idea. Katniss asks me a series of rapid questions and I answer as maturely as I can. Before I know it, the hour is up and Katniss is dismissing me for lunch. After lunch, my prep team is plucking and scrubbing and curling everything for a solid two and a half hours.

Cinna enters with a big garment bag. I look at it curiously, wondering what is in it. He smiles at me.

"Now, there's one thing I'm going to have to ask you to do," he says seriously, and I nod. "Twirl."

I cock my head to one side. "In the interview?"

Cinna smiles again and nods eagerly.

"But Katniss said I was supposed to be mature," I protest. "No tears, no childishness..."

Cinna raises one eyebrow and stares at me. "Katniss twirled in her interview," he points out. "Twirl. Promise me you'll twirl."

I sigh. "Okay."

"But not until the interview. Promise," he orders.

I roll my eyes. "I promise."

"Good. Now close your eyes," he tells me, and I obey. I hear rustling and then smooth fabric slipping and sliding on my skin. His hand closes around mine and I walk, blindly, numbly, where he guides me. There's more rustling as he adjusts something, and then Cinna tells me to open my eyes.

***

_**Author's Note: **__Sorry it's taken so long to get this chapter up! I hope that this satisfies you. It's over 2,500 words! I had to write chapters for all three of my other stories, and in between writing a chapter for "Paisley" and writing this one there was this one-week gap of me having no inspiration. Then I saw a note on my desk that I wrote a few weeks ago, about this story. I can't say what the note says just yet; it will give away Prim's interview outfit. Which is going to be a surprise... I hope nobody guesses what it is. And I'm not going to tell anyone. I'll try not to let things take over my life again! Ooh -- and I have something random to say. I love the Vampire Diaries, and I'm __**extremely**__ pissed off because there isn't going to be another episode until __**January!**__ January! How am I supposed to survive?! And it ended with a huuuuge cliffhanger! (If you're behind, don't worry. I'm not going to say anything other than there's a huuuuge cliffhanger.) Now I have to satisfy myself with watching Glee at my BFFAEAEAE __**spellbinder112**__'s house after musical theater every week. *Sigh...* Now: Thank you to __**vampirelovers345**__ and __**DobbyWobby**__ for reviewing! Also, thanks to an anonymous reviewer, __**Trinity**__!!! Guess what Trinity told me??!_

_**Trinity:**__ OMG! I loved the Hunger Games and I could have sworn that this was by the author. You're a great writer and I'm not just saying that! This is the BEST fan fiction I've ever read. Keep writing!_

_**Trinity**__, you make me smile! Thanks soooo much for that! I wish it wasn't anonymous because I wanted to reply so bad! I'm so excited that you like my story and I hope that you like what's coming up!_

_All right, time for this novel of an author's note to end. Onto the next chapter of "Summer"! XD_


	6. the world keeps spinning

Chapter 6

I'm staring at the most beautiful dress I have ever seen. For a moment I'm frightened that it will fall down around my ankles because it's only held up by two tiny silver ribbons, but it fits perfectly. The fabric is silvery-grey and has a sort of mesh over it that scratches my arms a little when they rub against it. The mesh has sparkly silver thread woven into it and makes the entire dress sparkle in the light. The skirt is all the way to the floor, just like my smoke dress. It doesn't go out as far as the cage did. The mesh covers it, too. The entire dress feels very heavy for a dress, but I don't ask. I'm busy standing there admiring it. My blonde hair has been fashioned into soft curls that fall over my shoulders and end just around the bottom of my ribcage. My eyes look big and there are silver and grey eyeshadows everywhere within two inches of my eyes.

"Well?" asks Cinna hopefully. I turn to him and throw my arms around him.

"Thank you," I say. "It's so beautiful. I love it!"

Cinna smiles as I pull away and then Katniss is knocking on the door and coming in before we can even tell her to. She smiles and her eyes get all teary and I feel like a princess. My heart is bouncing around in my chest and I have this giddy excitement running through my veins. I try to calm myself down. _Mature, _I tell myself. _You've got to be mature. Katniss said mature._

Moments later I'm in the elevator with everyone and everyone's talking and it's all hectic for a few minutes. We're all squished into the elevator like sardines in a can, and Cinna's loudly ordering everyone not to step on the hem of my dress because the mesh will fall down and the rest of the dress with it. Vick has gained a bubble of clear space in the elevator too, with Portia guarding him in a corner so that nobody ruins his outfit, which I can't see because Katniss and Peeta and Cinna and Effie and both prep teams are all in the way.

I'm noticing all the small things as we go past all those floors and rush down the hall and out the doors and into the limo. Like how the elevator gives a shrill beep at every floor that we pass, which is a lot, because we're on the thirteenth floor if you count all twelve districts plus the main floor, which, apparently, the elevator doesn't. It's just 'M' -- no numbers involved. Like how the screen in the elevator that says what floor we're currently passing has a burnt-out bulb right in the middle, so every number has a hole in it. Like how while Cinna's yelling not to step on my dress he accidentally does and then swears loudly. Like how Katniss' face turns quickly from an excited expression to a mask of disapproval as she scowls at Cinna after he swears. Like how there's no thin spots in the carpet in the hallway on the main floor, just thick, emerald-green carpet that I'm sure would be soft on my feet if I weren't wearing the silver heels that Cinna put me in and Effie taught me how to walk in. We never had heels back in District 12. No surprise there.

Then we're in the limo and the windows are tinted, and Vick and I are looking excitedly out the window and trying to see the Capitol properly. The leather seats are dark like the rest of the limo, and there's a glass wall in between the passengers and the driver. I've never been in a limo before. Come to think of it, I've never even _seen_ a limo before, unless you count the footage of the President going to the Opening Ceremony every year. And I don't count that. Just like the elevator doesn't count the main floor as a number.

And after that I'm back to noticing the big things. The small things are of little importance as we're led into the building where half of the population of the Capitol sits waiting for us, with Caesar Flickerman on his stage at the front.

All of the other tributes are running around, their prep teams adding last-minute touches to their make-up and hair, their stylists adjusting extravagant outfits. The District 4 girl is in some kind of a frenzy, her dark brown hair flying everywhere and her prep team and stylist and mentor all trying to calm her down. I try not to stare at her. _Be mature,_ I keep telling myself.

Vick is rushed away to fix some broken part of his outfit and Cinna leads me to a mirror, where Kalira, Zailey and Telandor fix my make-up and hair, even though nothing can possibly have happened to it during the smooth car ride from the Training Center to the interview station. I used to think that the tributes didn't leave the Training Center at all until they left for the arena, but now I see that I was wrong. I can only assume that we'll be rushed back to the Training Center the moment the interviews finish and we won't see daylight again for God knows how long.

We all file onto the stage. Vick is right in front of me, I can see his outfit from behind but can't make out what it is yet.

Caesar Flickerman appears. His colour this year is a yellow-orange, which makes him look like he's been eating too many carrots. He gives a speech about the Games and then calls up the first tribute, Sparkle Simmonds, District 1 tribute. The fifteen-year-old girl is playing sexy, which I find amusing because she's pretty young, as far as District 12 standards go, and the audience seems to enjoy. Next is Wrigley Stone, who is only fourteen but looks sixteen or older. He has dark skin, hair and eyes, and he's going for the fierce outlook. It seems to work; there's a few members of the audience that I can see who look scared out of their wits. Caesar sends Wrigley back to his seat and calls up Carlisa, the thirteen-year-old who I want as an ally. Her long, bright red hair is tied up in a long braid like Katniss sometimes wears and her grey eyes are bright as she answers all the questions that Caesar asks. She's wearing a very medieval-looking dress, dark purple velvet with gold accents, a tight bodice and long, flowing skirt. The hem sweeps the floor as she walks back to her seat, passing Cris Jordan, who is three years older than her, several heads taller, and accidentally-on-purpose bumps into her on his way to the interview stage. I wonder if it just looked like it was accidentally-on-purpose or if it actually was. My mind wanders throughout Cris' interview as I wonder if Carlisa's family will be angry with Cris' family back in District 2. When I bring myself back to attention, I realize that I have missed Emmalynn's interview and Jacob Sill is already up there, Emmalynn in the act of sitting down in her seat.

I'm thinking furiously at myself, _Act mature, act mature, act mature,_ repeating this mantra in my head, throughout the next couple of interviews. Next thing I know, the District 7 girl, Lana Holeburg, is up there, sitting with Caesar. She looks very mysterious, her long black hair and striking features standing out against the jeweled dress she wears. The jewels throw red and orange rainbows onto the floor and she's sitting there laughing her head off and then she starts to _twirl._ For some reason, I get this inexplicable rage building up inside me as the cameras zoom in on Katniss' face in the audience, looking for her reaction to this photocopy of her own interview five years before. Katniss is just sitting there with this serene expression on her face, watching calmly. I try to copy her and take a deep breath as Tyler Cross, the other District 7 copycat, smiles at her and sits down next to Caesar. Lana takes her seat back with the other tributes and Tyler's interview begins.

I zone out for a moment and then all of a sudden I hear Tyler saying, "Because the girl I'm in love with is here with me tonight."

Now the rage is back. This time, the cameras swoop around the entire audience, coming back to Katniss and Peeta again and again. The both of them are sitting there, Katniss' hand wrapped in Peeta's in between them. Katniss has her head on Peeta's shoulder and they're pretending that this whole thing isn't killing them inside. The audience is going crazy, half of them because they believe the District 7 tributes and half of them because the District 7 tributes are copying every move that Katniss and Peeta made five years ago. Soon enough Tyler's back in his seat and Allegra Benjamin is shuffling up with her five-foot frame and sitting down.

Angel Jones, from District 9, is wearing a full-blown angel costume, complete with feathered wings and a halo. Her white dress hangs to the floor and looks kind of like a tablecloth with holes cut out for her head and arms. Then Flower Stokes, District 10, has an equally strange costume, a flowerpot with a flower around her head and actual dirt. It takes her half of her interview time just to sit down. The boys from both districts are just wearing a bit of eyeliner so that their eyes don't drown in the lights and a t-shirt and pants. You can tell that the stylists all got together to work on the girl's outfit and paid no attention to poor Lee Haynes and Pine Polkins.

Suddenly I hear Caesar calling out, "And now we get to meet Primrose Everdeen!" and the audience starts to go wild. They play a quick clip on the big screen of Katniss' interview, even though it will eat up some of my time.

_"Let's go back then,"_ the Caesar Flickerman on the screen is saying. _"To the moment they called your sister's name at the reaping. And you volunteered. Can you tell us about her?"_

The screen shows a close-up of Katniss' face, her eyes wide and her dress, just like Lana Holeburg's copy, throwing rainbows on her skin. _"Her name's Prim. She's just twelve. And I love her more than anything."_

The screen goes back to the present and I glance up at the screen as I sit down to see my own face taking it up.

"Primrose. Is your sister the only one who's allowed to call you Prim?" asks Caesar.

_Mature._ "Not just her. But not everyone, either. I think you can call me Prim," I say, giving him a glimmer of a smile.

"Prim, then. So," says Caesar, settling into a more comfortable position in his armchair. "Your sister volunteered for you once before. But this time nobody did. For you, is that a good thing, or a bad thing?"

I glance towards Katniss. _Mature._ How do I answer that? "Well," I say, tucking a blonde curl behind my ear, "I -- I'm not exactly sure. But I think that if someone else was going to take care of Vick I wouldn't be too happy. He's --" I pause and look at Katniss again. She looks back at me, still calm. _Mature._ "He's like my little brother," I say. "One of Katniss' best friends is Vick's big brother. Vick's entire family feels like it's part of mine."

Katniss gives a tiny nod and I try to keep my shoulders from slumping in relief.

Caesar nods. "And that Opening Ceremony dress," he says. "What did you think of that?"

This time I glance at Cinna. "It was absolutely amazing," I say, vaguely aware that they're now showing a replay of the District 12 carriage rolling through the doors. "I couldn't really see much because of the smoke, but I think that Cinna's an absolute genius. He made this, too," I add, indicating the dress I'm wearing now. I look back at Cinna and he's twirling his finger just a little bit. I take a deep breath, stand up, and twirl.

"The exact image of her sister!" says Caesar excitedly, and that's when I notice the smoke rising up around me. Somebody in the audience screams and everyone else starts to, as well. I can't stop. I'm getting dizzier by the second but I close my eyes as gently as I can, trying not to wrinkle up my face, and the dizziness starts to leave, although I'm still spinning. When I finally open my eyes and stop, the smoke is gone. The audience gasps. I look down, praying that my dress hasn't burned off, but it has. The only thing is that there's something underneath it.

I look at it in wonder. The new dress is the exact same shape as the old one. The silver straps have been burned away, but the dress, miraculously, stays up. The bodice is sleek black fabric and the skirt is... feathers. Black feathers, tiny little feathers.

"What's this?" asks Caesar eagerly.

"A mockingjay, I think," I say, looking at Cinna again, and he's nodding and smiling.

"Beautiful!" cries Caesar. "Cinna, your stylist, take a bow!" The cameras drink up Cinna's image and then mine again, letting the audience get a good look at my dress. I notice most of the female tributes with scowls on their faces. The District 7 stylists have this evil grin on their faces and I'm surprised that they aren't taking notes or something. The buzzer goes off and Caesar sends me back to my seat, calling my 'little brother' up to the stage.

"Vick Hawthorne," says Caesar once Vick's sat down. I finally get a good look at his outfit -- a tux. I'm somewhat surprised; you never see anything as nice as a tux back in District 12. We have to rent wedding gowns; a tux is practically unheard of.

Vick seems to be the 'shy' boy tonight. Hard to reach. Very needs-a-big-sister-to-take-care-of-him. He answers each question quietly, and Caesar has to hold his microphone practically to Vick's lips so that the audience can hear him. Caesar asks questions about Vick's family, his big brother, lingering on Gale's relationship with Katniss until the audience is sure that there's nothing going on between the two of them. Then the buzzer goes off and Vick returns to his seat, and we all stand for the anthem. Then we're rushed back to the Training Center and sent to bed.

"Big day tomorrow," says Effie, not even allowing us to watch the replay of the interviews. "You have your appointments with the Gamemakers."

And so I turn out my lights and pull my covers up to my chin, wondering if Katniss and Peeta could be signing up sponsors as I do so.

***

_**Author's Note: **__Sorry it's been almost a month! BUT it's a Christmas present for you! Besides, I've gotten two chapters done in one day -- one for Paisley, one for this story! If you read both of them, you've got a double present! Unless you don't celebrate Christmas, which is okay too. But you can still have a present. I'm going to try to keep this author's note shorter than the one for Paisley, which shouldn't be a challenge, that thing was HUUUUGE. Thank you to __**Nerdtastic Events**__, __**grangergal101**__ and __**vampirelovers345**__ for reviewing. Also, thank you to an anonymous reviewer, __**(:**__ for reviewing. And to __**Kevin-Genesis**__: I suppose that Prim is a little bit like Glimmer but less seductive (love how you worded that, by the way, and I'm not kidding) but I wanted her to act more motherly in her group. I think I told you that when I replied to your reveiew. Oh, and thank you to __**Marionettes**__ for the mini grammar lesson. I tried to do better in this chapter. Tell me what you think of Prim's interview outfit! I took it from Catching Fire! Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!  
_


	7. always going to be another mountain

Chapter 7

The next morning, I wake up to the door softly clicking shut behind an Avox who has brought my outfit for training. I put on the black pants and red top again and eat quickly; today will be my personal training session with the Gamemakers. The training session used to come before the interviews, but a few years ago five different people told all about their training session during the interviews, and it's supposed to stay between them and the Gamemakers. So now it's the next morning.

The session will be scored somewhere between one and twelve -- twelve being the highest -- and will determine just how many sponsors I can get. I wonder what I'm supposed to do. I can't fight. Katniss and Peeta are nowhere in sight Vick and I get down to the training level quickly enough, and we sit with the rest of the tributes in the lunchroom while we are called into the training room one by one. Boy, girl, boy, girl. The two young girls, Carlisa and Emmalynn, sit near us, but they are called in quickly, being from Districts 2 and 3. Pine sits with us the longest, but he doesn't speak at all.

"Vick Hawthorne," comes a voice, and Vick stands up shakily and heads in to see the Gamemakers without looking back at me. I am alone.

It's almost half an hour later when my name is called. I counted each second on the clock. I leave the empty lunchroom to find the restless Gamemakers behind their table. Of course they're restless; they've been sitting here all morning, sitting through twenty-three other demonstrations. I have to shine. I walk to the center of the room.

I have no idea what I'm going to do.

What are my skills? Healing comes to mind immediately, but what can I _show_ them? I'm not going to hurt someone just so I can heal them again. I rack my brains. Anything else? I always win the distance races back home, but there isn't enough space to run that far here. That leaves climbing.

I glance over at the tree-climbing station. It's not even trees, though, just a bunch of ropes hanging from the high ceiling, knotted at random intervals, with shorter ropes tied between a couple of them as 'branches.' Overall, just a jungle gym. But it's better than nothing, I suppose. I know I won't get a remarkable score or anything, but I climb for what seems like forever. I go up the ropes, I go down the ropes, I swing along the flimsy, fake branches by my hands, I leap from one rope to another. I can't think of anything else that I could possibly do, so I finally drop from about ten feet up and land, softly, knees bent to absorb some of the impact.

Not all of the Gamemakers are even watching. I try not to be angered by this as they dismiss me and I walk quickly, quietly, out of the room.

Standing in the elevator, I lean against the cool metal wall and shut my eyes. The elevator's periodic dings, indicating each floor that I pass, calm me. I won't be getting any sponsors, I know that much. In your private training session, you're supposed to wow the Gamemakers, not bore them. If you bore them, you get a low training score. And low training scores _never_ get sponsors. The score will definitely dissuade any sponsors I might have gotten for Cinna's amazing work. My interview was nothing special. Katniss says that her one moment of substance was when she talked about me. Is it pathetic that _my_ one moment of substance was when she talked about me, too?

"How'd it go?" asks Peeta as soon as I sit down on the couch in District 12's main room. I can't escape the topic for long.

"I'm going to get a _terrible_ score," I mumble.

Katniss looks alarmed. "What did you do?"

"I just climbed around. They hardly even watched."

"Did you provoke them at all?"

I shake my head and Katniss looks relieved. I realize that I've never asked her how she managed to get that eleven five years ago and open my mouth to ask, but think better of it. If she wants to tell me, she will. Besides, she's talking again.

"You'll be fine, Prim. Your interview went pretty well and there's your outfit at the opening ceremonies, too."

"But that doesn't show people that I'm a good bet for the Games," I object.

"Maybe it'll be okay," Peeta muses. "I mean, Katniss is a survivor. They won't forget that you're her sister, will they? Maybe they'll think it runs in the family.

"But it _doesn't,_" I say, and then change the subject. "Where's Vick?"

"He's taking a shower." Soon enough, he joins us. I notice faded paint on his hands and he tells us about his training session, which sounds a lot more promising than mine; he managed to get in some camouflage, snares, archery, and knife-throwing before being dismissed. I envy him; he's only fourteen, yet capable of almost everything.

The prep teams appear; we will be going into the arena tomorrow morning, and although it's pointless, they want us to look our best. The rest of the afternoon is spent climbing in and out of baths and having every tiny hair on my body plucked from my skin. After dinner, everyone gathers before the TV in the main room. I am squished in between Telandor and Portia. Effie turns the TV on and the anthem blares from the speakers.

The District 1 girl, Sparkle, appears first, followed by a big black number eight. When Carlisa pulls a ten, I imagine the Careers scowling and wishing they'd picked her to be in their group. Emmalynn's close-up is followed by a seven, and both of the District 4 tributes receive nines. The boy from 6 gets a nine as well; I make a mental note to watch out for him in the arena. Pine gets an eight and my own face appears on the screen, then my score -- seven. Vick receives the third ten of the night.

My heart falls, knowing that I won't be getting any sponsors, but I put a smile on my face as we celebrate Vick's ten.

Tomorrow we will be entering the arena. That's the only thought that crosses my mind as I toss and turn in bed. Katniss comes in partway through the night, stroking my hair, telling me I need to sleep. I'll need it. She gives me a mug of hot chocolate. I identify the sweet taste quickly. Sleep syrup. Katniss can get this to work on anyone. She even used it on Peeta in the Games. But it's too late to fight it, and as I slip into a dreamless sleep I realize that it will be good for me to sleep.

She must have only given me a couple of drops, because I'm up practically at the crack of dawn, stuffing myself in the main room. Steady, steady. Not too much, but not too little. Vick joins me when I'm buttering my third piece of toast, and everyone else shortly after.

"Your allies," says Peeta, pouring himself a cup of coffee. We never got coffee before Katniss and him won the Games. "Carlisa, Emmalynn, and Pine."

Vick and I nod. "Any last-minute advice?" I ask through a mouthful of food. Effie looks disgruntled.

"Stay alive," say Katniss and Peeta at the same time, and I'm shocked to see them laugh. However, they sober up quickly.

"Well, there'll be five of you, but you aren't going to want to stay near the Cornucopia," advises Peeta. "Run in, grab maybe a weapon and a bit of food, and then get the hell out of there."

"Carlisa's good with a bow and arrow, you said, so grab one of those if you can -- it'll be useful for food," adds Katniss. "Especially since _you_" -- she looks pointedly at me -- "refuse to kill anything."

"Good thing I'm in the Games, then, right?" I say as cheerily as I can. I suppose the joking might chase the Hunger Games from our minds, for a little while at least.

"Seriously, Prim, grab a bow for Carlisa, a knife or something for you, some food. Then find your allies and _run. _I'm not kidding. Get as far away from the Cornucopia as you can and find a water source and a tree that can hold all of you for the night," orders Katniss.

Cinna and Portia appear from the elevator.

"Time to go," announces Portia.

Katniss hugs Vick, then me. She strokes my hair and I feel like I'm twelve years old again, back at the Justice Building. Saying goodbye to Katniss, telling her to win. Only this time, our roles are reversed. Just like they would have been five years ago.

"Try very hard to come home, Prim," Katniss whispers, and for the first time in probably ten years, I think I see a tear threatening to roll down her cheek. She tries to smile for me, but I can see the pain. She doesn't want to lose me.

"You can't _let_ me lose," I say forcefully. "You'll be sitting there in the Games Headquarters and you'll be able to help us. You'll be able to send us what we need."

"Only if you get enough sponsors. Only if they give you enough money. And, Prim, eventually you'll get to the point where you can't _be_ 'us,'" Katniss reminds me. "Once in seventy-eight years they've had two victors at once. It won't be a case of seventy-ninth time lucky. There can't be five winners. Your group is going to be _five,_ Prim. Five."

"I know," I mumble.

Effie says a tearful goodbye and then rushes off dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief. The prep teams make a final appearance to hug us and wish us luck. Then Cinna and Portia accompany me and Vick to the Training Center roof.

Katniss has told me all about it, but I'm still unprepared for the electric shock that glues me to the ladder as I'm carried up into the hovercraft. A doctor approaches me with a needle so long I swear it's going to go through my arm and out the other side. She quickly inserts the tracker into my left forearm and the current releases me. I can move again.

On the 45-minute ride to wherever the arena is, I manage to down a roll and two glasses of water. I take a third but don't get it all down before the hovercraft lands. I barely notice the twisting hallways that take us to my private Launch Room. I wonder if the Capitol people will enter this room and be taken up into the arena by Primrose Everdeen's Launcher. I wonder if they will stand in a forest or a meadow or on a shore to reenact my death before springing up from the grave, laughing. Will it be directly above me, right there at the Cornucopia?

I get another roll and anotehr half a glass of water into my system. I guess you could say that watching my sister dehydrate almost to death on live television taught me a lesson. Cinna holds my hand as we sit, wating. My outfit arrives. Lightweight, dark cotton pants. Knit white turtleneck. Black windbreaker. High-quality running shoes.

"Shouldn't get too cold, judging by the fabrics," Cinna says, running his fingers over the material. "But I think there will be some wind. Probably a flat expanse to run on."

I hug Cinna for the last time. I think it's pretty clear that I'm never going to see the people that I love again. Cinna reaches out and attaches Katniss' mockingjay pin to my turtleneck. I step onto my metal place and the glass cylinder slides down around me as he steps back. Cinna watches with sad eyes lined in metallic gold as I start to move up.

Trees. My first look at the arena is all trees. The Cornucopia sits in the middle of a... Cornucopia-sized clearing in a forest. Not too dense, but not too sparse. All the other tributes are rising up out of the ground, too.

"Ladies and gentlemen," booms Claudius Templesmith, who has been announcing the Games since year one. He's probably about a hundred years old know. I briefly wonder who will take his place when he dies. "Let the 79th Hunger Games... _begin!_"

Sixty seconds. I can practically hear the clock ticking. I take a look around the other tributes for my allies. Pine is two metal plates to my right. Vick five to the left. Emmalynn and Carlisa must be on the other side of the Cornucopia.

Fifty seconds. There's a glinting copper bow, practically child-sized, and a quiver of arrows, sitting near the tip of the Cornucopia. _Grab a bow for Carlisa. _Katniss' voice echoes in my head. A box of food -- crackers, I think -- sits a foot away from it. Food, check. Bow and arrows, check. But I still need a weapon for myself.

Forty seconds. The clock seems to be moving slower than it does when I'm sitting at home, watching the screen flicker between one tribute's face, and another, and another, and another...

Thirty seconds. _Find yourself a weapon, girl!_ I think furiously. _Find --_ there. A black leather pouch with a leather shoulder strap. The flap of the pouch open, something glinting inside. Knives. So close to the bow and arrows. As if all these things were meant just for me.

Twenty seconds. I glance to the right and slightly behind me to examine a tree. The branches are low enough for me to reach if I can get a running start. There's a branch twenty feet up that goes out almost to the top of the Cornucopia. I measure the distance with my eyes. I think I'd be able to leap from the branch to the Cornucopia.

Ten seconds. It will kill two birds with one stone -- not only will I reach the knives, the bow and arrows, the crackers, quickly, I will also be climbing right over the bloodbath that is the base of the Cornucopia.

Five seconds. As everyone prepares to run, I point my body away from the Cornucopia. I can practically hear them yelling. _Prim, turn the other way!_ Katniss and Peeta and my mother and Madge and Gale and Hazelle and Rory and Posy... Liliana and Chelsey and Liyah and Wing. Wing... My best friend. And Effie, Cinna, Portia, Haymitch, Telandor, Zailey, Kalira. Maybe even Vick's prep team, too. I wonder if the solitary Haven Tenerson will be sitting in her house in the Victors' Village, watching the Games. I wonder what's going through her mind right now.

Then the gong goes off and all hell breaks loose.

***

_**Author's Note: **__I know, I know, I know. It's been a long time. I haven't updated since Christmas and I'm sorry! But I have excuses. (If you're __**HPobsessssssed7**__ and you're finished Catching Fire and are now reading this, skip down a bit because you've seen this three times before.)__The first is completely legit; I had exams. I mean, I know that they were only a week out of the month and a half or however long it's been since the last chapter, but it's a pretty good reason. The second reason is that over Christmas I've been kind of obsessed with Kelly Clarkson (well, it kinda sorta started in November when I saw her in concert, which was AWESOME!). It's getting a teensy bit out of hand -- I literally listen to nothing else. Her CDs have been banned from the dinner table and my parents and brother are completely sick of her music. My sister's okay with it 50% of the time, but only because she's nine-and-a-half years younger than me and is convinced that anything I do is completely 100% the right thing to do... Another sign of how bad my addiction is -- I was sitting in the car waiting for my dad to come back from the grocery store or somewhere and I was looking at the quarters that we keep in the car for parking meters, and I got really excited because one of the quarters was from 1982 (the year Kelly was born) and the one right next to it was from 2002 (the year she won American Idol). Also, I am seriously considering celebrating her birthday on April 24th (she's turning 28!). I may actually bake a birthday cake... That is, if I don't screw it up because I'm not really good at cooking. Anyways, back onto the topic of the story. I really admire you if you've stuck with this story and you're still reading, because, well, I haven't exactly been faithful with the updates. All of my stories are feeling very neglected... Thank you to me (only) reviewer from last chapter, __**vampirelovers345**__. I will consider letting Prim eliminate the copycats... I've already written the next chapter, but I'm not going to update this story again until I've updated "Summer," "Mudblood," and "Paisley" -- can't go around favouring any of my stories, can I now? Again, I'm sorry, and I admire you for sticking with the story!_


	8. a bullet in her heart

Chapter 8

I'm running. It's not that long of a run; I'm in the tree within seconds, scooting along the branch until I reach a point where it is too thin for me to stand on. I drop and catch the branch in my hands, swinging along over my fellow tributes like a monkey. I see Vick grabbing a large-ish bow from the base of the Cornucopia. Now I have reached the end of my branch, and the leap I had calculated moments before now seems a lot longer than I'd thought. I swing back and forth to get some momentum and leap through the air, praying that I'll make it, and land on the golden surface of the Cornocopia, scrabbling for a good hold. I grab the bow for Carlisa, and the box of crackers. I glance behind me to see the girl from District 11 climbing quickly over the mountain of supplies, her gaze fixed on the pouch of knives that I have my mind set on retrieving.

I lunge for the pouch, and my fingers close around the strap just as the girl reaches me. She comes after me -- if that's the right phrase, I'm not sure, because I'm not moving or anything and because my mind isn't working right now. She's almost my age, I'd guess, but not very strong or quick. Then again, neither am I -- but I fumble for a knife anyways; I'm lying on my back with no escape. I stab at her and am pleased yet disgusted when I feel the knife make contact -- in her thigh, I think -- and scramble to my feet, racing down the other side of the Cornucopia, grabing a medium-sized, army-green backpack as I go, remembering how useful the items in Katniss' backpack were to her. I spot Emmalyn with a gash in the side of her black jacket. I can see the white turtleneck through the open flap of black fabric, the paleness of the shirt stained with red. I grab her hand as I fly past her, and she runs with me as best she can, but she's leaving a trail of blood.

Vick catches up to me and Emmalynn as we reach the trees. I look around for Carlisa and spot her mane of red hair against a dark tree trunk. Her big grey eyes meet mine and she runs towards us. She's holding a small dagger in her left hand and something I can't quite see in the other.

"Where's Pine?" she asks, trembling. I can hear the clang of metal on metal back at the Cornucopia.

I scan the bloodbath for the dark-skinned boy and find him running towards us, a backpack in each hand and a bleeding wound on his forehead. I scream when the District 4 boy catches up to Pine, but Pine just lances over his shoulder at the muscular blond boy and makes a sharp turn disappearing into the trees. The boy skids to a halt, already past the point where Pine had disappeared, and turned back to find other prey.

A twig snaps behind us and I spin around. Carlisa's knife hand is poised to attack in a split second, but she relaxes when the person emerging from the bushes is Pine.

"Run," orders Vick, and we all sprint away from the Cornucopia.

Surely we're getting a little camera time as wer run, dodging trees, hurtling over fallen branches. On the first day, most of the footage will be of the massacre at the Cornucopia, but they'll show people who've escaped occasionally, to let people know that we're still alive. And I know that our mentors will be watching us 24/7.

We run, then stop and catch our breath. I want to do what I can for my injured allies right there, but there's no time right now. We can't afford to stop yet. I climb to the top of a tree to see what's going on back at the Cornucopia, but I can't tell anything because of the trees. The sun is high in the sky and we keep running. Eventually, we slow to a walk, but the afternoon is wearing on and we still can't stop altogether. Emmalynna nd Carlisa are tiring. I take the backpacks from Pine and Vick slings his bow over his shoulder, and the two of them piggyback the younger girls for a while. Dusk is just beginning to fall when we reach the edge of the forest.

Sand. Sand, as far as I can see.

"A desert?" whispers Emmalynn, her misty blue eyes wide.

I nod. "A desert," I sigh.

We scour the edge of the forest until Pine finds a clear, sparkling stream, then scout around for a good tree. We eventually find one that, thirty feet up, splits into two trunks with an area that will hold all of us. Before we climb up the tree, though, we assess our supplies.

"Vick, what have you got?" I ask, taking charge. After all, I'm supposed to be the 'mother figure' of the group.

Vick lays out his bow, a sheath of arrows, and a package of dried fruit. Pine has two large black backpacks, along with a patch of neon green silk. I wonder how useful that will be, but just turn to Carlisa. She holds out the little dagger and a pair of socks. Emmalynn's managed to get two packages of beef jerky. And then I have the small bow and arrows, the box of crackers, the pouch of knives, and one backpack, which proves to hold a water bottle, a bottle of iodine, a thin, navy-blue blanket, and a plastic bag full of plain rolls. Pine also empties out his backpacks, adding to our supplies two more blankets, a box of matches, a first-aid kit, three more water bottles, and another bottle of iodine.

"Well," I say, "we're pretty well-off, aren't we?"

Pine fills the water bottles and Emmalynn adds the correct amount of iodine to each, and then we divide up the supplies. I have one large backpack holding four knives, four rolls, one full water bottle, and the first-aid kit. The other big backpack goes to Pine, along with another four knives, four more rolls, a water bottle, some iodine, and one of the blankets. Vick refuses a backpack and instead takes his bow and arrows, one package of beef jerky, a water bottle, and the matches, somehow managing to get almost all of it into the pockets of his windbreaker. Carlisa puts her dagger, the dried fruit, a blanket, the pair of socks, and the silk, wrapped around her four rolls, into the medium-sized backpack, slinging her quiver of arrows over one shoulder, and Emmalynn puts her four knives back into the black leather pouch, along with a package of beef jerky, four rolls, a water bottle, and some iodine. She wraps the last blanket around her shoulders like a cape. I bandage all of them up as best I can and we climb up the tree to wait for the anthem to play.

Soon enough, the Capitol's emblem appears in the sky and the giant screen, held in the air by a hovercraft, begins to show faces and district numbers.

The first to appear is the boy from District 2, which is surprising because not only did he get a ten in training, he was also a Career. Carlisa stares up at the sky, no trace of emotion on her face. I wonder if this is because she knows that there could be a camera trained on her face right now. I wonder if she is thinking of his family back home. I wonder if she knew him well.

Both tributes from District 3 and District 4 are alive; Emmalynn plus three Careers. No tributes remain from District 5, and the girl from Six is also dead. Both from Eight, gone. The redheaded boy from District 9, gone. Both from Ten, gone. The anthem plays once more and the sky goes dark.

Nine dead, fifteen remaining. We try to sleep, taking turns keeping watch, squished together in the split between the two tree trunks, waiting for the Careers to come hunting for us, as they do every year. Surprisingly, though, morning comes without any sign of them. We split two rolls -- one from Vick's jacket pocket, one from my backpack -- for breakfast and drink all of our water, returning to the bubbling stream to refill our water bottles.

"So, where are we headed?" asks Carlisa, fiddling with the ends of her long, red hair.

"Across the desert," says Emmalynn, as though it's obvious.

We all stare at her.

"Are you _crazy?_"hisses Pine finally. "The desert?"

Emmalynn shrugs. "Maybe I am," she says quietly. "But look," she adds, pointing across the desert, where I can see a dark smudge. "There's another forest on that side. And you can bet that this desert's the only way there. If we're over there, we've got a better chance that the Careers won't get to us."

There's a silence, then Vick says, "She has a point."

And so, agreeing that there isn't likely to be a water source in the desert, we all drink as much water as we can hold, then I set about washing Emmalynn and Pine's wounds again and bandaging them back up. Then we set off at a run, hoping to get as far as we can before nightfall.

Around noon -- or when we think it's noon, judging by the height of the sun in the sky -- we break for lunch, not wanting to starve but still rationing the food that we have. A piece of beef jerky, a chunk of dried fruit, and a few crackers each, as well as about half of our water. The sun beats down on us as we move again, this time walking. I wonder why we haven't seen anything from the Capitol yet -- no silver parachutes, obviously, because we don't really need anything yet, but nothing to drive us on. No swarms of bugs, no fires, no hailstorms. Just sun and sand.

No sooner than I've thought it, a wind starts to pick up. This is no ordinary wind, I know, once the sand starts to blow into our eyes and the flying insects begin to buzz around us. Not mutts, just fierce, annoying insects that bite every inch of our skin they can find. Carlisa ties her silk around the bottom of her face, making it so that she can still see but the bugs can't bite as much of her, and Emmalynn and Pine wrap their blankets around their shoulders. Carlisa generously gives Vick her extra pair of socks and he puts them on his hands. We trek onwards for almost two hours of sandstorms and bugs until the wind dies down and the insects fly off to find someone else to torment.

"Well, for the Games, that wasn't so bad," I say as we put our bug protection away and drink a little more water. I can't find anything in the first-aid kit that helps to reduce the itchiness, though, and by the time the sky begins to darken again, the five of us have raw, red skin. I haven't heard any cannons today, but the wind must have drowned out the sound, because one face appears in the sky tonight; the boy from District 7. I feel a sick kind of glee running through my veins, but try not to show anything on my face. _So much for District 7 copying Katniss and Peeta,_ I think.

It's the very early hours of the morning when she shows up.

"Pine," she mumbles, and starts coughing violently. It's the girl from Eleven, the one I stabbed in the leg on the first day. I try not to look at the dried blood all over her ripped pant leg, but that's nothing compared to when she starts coughing up blood.

The girl -- Flower, Pine calls her -- stains a patch of the sand crimson before dying in Pine's arms, the cannon firing like some kind of sick lullaby as we fall asleep again.

***

_**Author's Note: **Sorry it's taken a while to update! I've been busy... Sick for THREE weeks (and still not better), injuring myself all the time ('cause I'm a klutz -- seriously, I overstretched and then I did something to my knee and then my ear -- I can't hear out of my right ear properly right now -- and then my knee got better and now my ankle hurts -- not that bad, just like a bruise under the anklebone, but not, like you can't see it -- AND my other knee!), and stressed out. Because my little sister cut herself on an Exacto knife (even though that was a few weeks ago) and my fish died (that was a couple weeks ago, too) and then, last Thursday, my ex-best friend got a concussion! A stop sign fell on her -- don't laugh. What happened was Tristan was swinging around on a stop sign (tsk, tsk, niners...) and then there was this HUGE **CRACK! **and the stop sign fell and it hit Caitlin. Mariah was laughing at her for it (even though she would've been crying, too, if a stop sign had hit HER) and then Caitlin's mum came to pick her up and then she started forgetting things! But it was minor and she's okay now. :) Also, I have two projects that were due one week ago (one for Social Studies and one for French) that I forgot to do and now my teachers are like "Where is your project?!" Another reason (though not as legit) is that I've discovered that someone on made a Kelly Clarkson Fanfiction board! So I started a story on there and I've been favouring it. :( For those who want to read it, it's called "All I Ever Wanted" and there is a link on my profile. If you do read it, please comment! If you want you can say that you're someone from and you're reading _________ (whichever one of my stories you're reading on here) and then I will feel special 'cause I'll know that people actually read my loooooooooong author's notes... ;) Now, thanks to my reviewers from last chapter: **vampirelovers345**, **3ta**, **In-the-fire**, **hockeygirlxox**, **Narcissa-Weasly**, **Deevee White** (thank you for allowing me to favour stories and hinting that this is the only one that I'm allowed to favour, but I really shouldn't... Although I've kind of been favouring AIEW on KCFanfiction but that's against the point...), **Litlemusa**, and **HPobsessssssed7** (who is the only person I know of who's reading ALL of my fanfics! At least, on here. I don't know if she's reading AIEW but Bev, I strongly recommend it!). And now, just one more thing: KELLY CLARKSON ROCKS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! (And let me just say that if my grandparents were taking me to Africa THIS year instead of LAST year, I could have gone to her concert in Cape Town on the 17th. Just sayin'.)_


	9. stars are holding you

Chapter 9

When I wake up, Flower's body is still lying in the reddish-brown stained sand. I suppose they didn't pick her up because we're still here... Although the others eat before we move on, I feel sick to my stomach with the body next to me. Vick forces me to drink some water, though, and when we set off, our bottles are nearly empty. I wonder briefly if the cameras can see us. Where would the camera's be, though? In grains of sand? We aren't close enough to the trees for cameras embedded there to be able to see us.

I glance over my shoulder to see a hovercraft appear out of thin air, drop a claw down, and take Flower's body away. Back to the Capitol, where the blood will be cleansed from her skin and she will be packed into a box and sent back to her family in District Eleven.

We travel in as straight a line as we can manage, taking a break when the sun is directly above us to drip the last of the water into our parched mouths. We don't speak as we continue on. The day passes quickly, and just as the sun is about to disappear over the horizon, Carlisa says suddenly, "I see water."

Our hopes shooting up to join the first few stars appearing in the darkening sky, we stumble onwards until we reach the water Carlisa's spotted. The starry skies reflect on the still surface.

"A _lake,_" breathes Vick, smiling that brilliant smile of his. We stagger to the edge of the lake and fill all four of our water bottles. Emmalynn tells us the right amount of iodine again as she and Pine drip it into the bottles, and it takes all of our strength to wait the correct amount of time. Luckily, we're distracted -- for a moment, at least -- by the faces of the dead appearing in the sky.

The first to appear is the female copycat from District Seven. Now both of them are gone, and I get mixed emotions from this; sadness for their families, but at the same time a bit of some kind of sick, twisted happiness. Is this what the Games do to you? Did Katniss feel this about anyone's death? Next we see Flower's face in the sky. The anthem plays and the sky goes dark, lit only by the stars. Only two deaths today. Now is when the deaths start to get more spread out, I know.

"Twelve of us left," murmurs Pine, but he doesn't add the part that I know all of us are thinking -- _and almost half of them are sitting right here._

***

_**Author's Note:** I know it was pitifully short and it took me far too long to update. I'm sorry. I had writer's block, along with being banned from the computer thanks to my EVIL father, plus I had my Kelly Clarkson obsession. I just wanna say that my life is finally somewhat back to normal (aside from a whole high-school drama thing with friends and talking behind peoples' backs and things -- I wasn't the one talking behind peoples' backs, I was talked about, but I don't particularly feel like elaborating on it right now) and I'm gonna try and update more often. You know how you can help? Review! I haven't exactly had a lack of reviews on this story, but that's against the point. I'm not gonna go all crazy and demand a certain number of reviews to release the next chapter, but I am going to say this -- reviews make me know that there are people out there who want the next chapter, and that makes me more motivated to write. Feel free to ignore this if you like. I'm just sayin'. Anyways, on that note I'm gonna thank my multitude of reviewers from last chapter. Thank you to: **Deevee White** (and I still don't think I can favour this story), anonymous reviewer **Me **(very creative there on the name!), **vampirelovers345** (haha, you make me laugh), **It was all a PUZZLE **(you make me laugh even harder!), **Emily Cha** (thank you very much), **AnaStasia **(you'll just have to tide yourself over with 'Danger' until Mockingjay comes out), **HPobsessssssed7** (who is by far the reader who is most accepting of my KC obsession), **Rabidfangfan** (who called me "Little Miss Suzanne Collins" -- which, by the way, made my day), and **meea123** (I'm glad you like the story so far, hooray for reviews!). And now, go and review and motivate me. :)  
_


	10. my tourniquet

Chapter 10

I'm awakened in the middle of the night by a shrill scream.

I sit bolt upright and Vick does the same. "What's going on?" he says tiredly.

Carlisa answers immediately. "Pine's gone and Emmalynn's covered in blood."

Emmalynn is unconscious, her eyes closed. The blanket wrapped around her is soaked with blood, and the tips of her pale blonde hair are dyed red. I order Vick to get me the first-aid kit as I carefully, gently unwrap the blanket. This injury is on the other side of her body than the gash she got on our first day in the arena. The blood on that side is dried while the scarlet seeping from her new wound is slowly inching towards it. I slowly lift up her shirt to reveal the injury.

It's a clean cut, made with precision. Deep and long. Whoever attacked couldn't have been in too big of a hurry. Vick places the first-aid kit on the ground next to me and I get to work. The flow of blood is slowing and when it stops completely, I carefully cleanse Emmalynn's body of blood and bandage her up. I fill one of the water bottles with water from the lake and drop in the correct amount of iodine for when Emmalynn wakes up.

"Now, what's going on with Pine?" I ask, turning to Carlisa.

"He's gone," she says simply. "All of the things that belonged to him are gone, too."

"Do you think he's the one that attacked Emmalynn?" inquires Vick.

I shrug. "I don't know. I don't want to think that he would, but in the Games you never know, right? Pine's very cautious. He may have realized last night - remember, when we were talking about how many tributes are left - that he would have to break off from the group. He might have thought that maybe we might turn on him any second. Maybe he decided to turn on us first..."

I hear a sigh and look around to see Emmalynn opening her eyes.

"Don't sit up," I warn. "Here, have some water."

"What happened?" she asks.

"Somebody attacked you," replies Vick. "We don't know who, but Pine's gone."

"Pine wouldn't," Emmalynn decides after a moment.

"You never know," answers Carlisa, echoing my words. "The point is, he's gone, and _someone_ attacked you. It makes sense to have been Pine."

"He wouldn't do that," insists Emmalynn, reaching up with the arm on her uninjured side and taking the water bottle I hand to her. "He just wouldn't."

I sigh. "How do you know?"

Emmalynn frowns. "I don't know. I just don't think he would do that to me. Or anyone."

"Appearances can be deceiving," says Carlisa mysteriously. "Just because he seems like a very shy, innocent guy doesn't mean that he is. In the Games, people have all kinds of strategies."

"Well," says Emmalynn stubbornly, "the only way to find out is to track him down and ask him."

"And just how do you suggest we do that?" asks Vick skeptically.

Emmalynn closes her eyes. "I'm not sure. Wait until morning, then we'll see." Within seconds, she's asleep again.

_**Author's Note: **Sorry it's been so long! A month and a half... But again, I've had writer's block. You can thank **Rabidfangfan** for the creation of this chapter because she gave me the idea. Well, kinda. I switched it around a little with who got injured and what exactly happened and stuff... But the point is, she also sent me a message practically begging for an update, and that really gave me the kick in the butt I needed. So thanks to her. :) Now... For anyone reading "Summer" or "Paisley," I've put those two on a temporary hold because I'd like to get SOME writing done and as I said, I have/had writers' block. I will probably update all of my stories (hopefully including those two) a lot more during the summer, when I'll have more free time. :) Now, thanks to anyone who's stuck with this story through all the long-in-between updates and short chapters and all... And thank you to my newest reviewers who reviewed chapter 2 (so long ago...): **amixdeuxkpthxgirl **and **Meow** (anonymous). Thanks to everyone who reviewed last chapter despite its pitiful length: **HPobsessssssed7** (thank you for the lovely/not-so-lovely review), **hungergameslaura31 **(who has also accepted my ongoing KC obsession), **hockeygirlxox** ("Both the Copycats are dead! Teehee!"), **AnaStasia **(who is my most frequent anonymous reviewer), **LoatheTheBoyWithTheBread** (LOVE your name), **Gee **(anonymous - thanks for the compliments, they made my day), **Meova **(I'm glad that Prim is in character for you), **meea123** (thank you for the suggestion to throw a brick at the girl who was talking about me and my friends behind our backs... I'll try to find a decent-sized brick), **Emily Cha **(glad you're liking the story still), **Rabidfangfan** (like I said before, you're the one who got me to write this chapter!), **It was all a PUZZLE **(yes, you is funnier), and **Torizzle** (anonymous - but only 'cause you were "too lazy to log in"). I'll try not to take as long to update this time... If I do, please give me a gentle-ish kick in the butt. ;)_


	11. watching as i fall

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **_I'm baaaaack! I don't know if any of you will still be around after... *cough* almost two years *cough* ...but I've been getting some reviews for all of my stories in general asking me to update, and I'm going to try and kick the writer's block. XP Anyways. I like to think that my writing has improved in the past two years or so. I hope you think so too~ Thank you thank you thank you to everyone who's been trying to get me to update, it worked in the end (; _

* * *

**CHAPTER ELEVEN**

We all wake with the sun.

It's bright and too cheerful for the sight that meets my eyes as I sit up - the sand around Emmalynn is as red as the patch we left back where the District 11 girl's cannon sounded. For a moment, I'm afraid that Emmalynn's died, too, that I missed her cannon in the dead of sleep, but her chest rises and falls slowly and I breathe a sigh of relief.

Vick tears two rolls into halves and offers each of us our share; I refuse mine and order Emmalynn to eat it in what I hope sounds like a motherly sort of voice to the Panem that waits outside the arena. Instead, I slowly nibble away at two of my crackers before everyone gets to their feet. We fill our water bottles and treat them with Emmalynn's iodine, then begin to search our immediate surroundings for clues.

I feel like a detective. I crouch next to Emmalynn's bloodstains and inspect the ground around the red, trailing my fingers through the soft grains of sand and taking care to avoid the ones that have been permanently dyed crimson. Out of the corner of my eye, I keep tabs on my allies - Vick is frowning across the desert towards the forest where the Cornucopia must be shining under the bright sunlight, and Emmalynn is slowly making her way along the shore of the lake while Carlisa crawls somewhat comically in the opposite direction.

"Guys," she calls from behind a curtain of red hair, and we're at her side in mere moments. As Emmalynn reaches us last, holding a hand to her newer bandages, Carlisa points wordlessly to a single set of footprints headed in the direction of the forest.

Vick's hands curl into tight fists. "He was alone," he said quietly, menacingly. "He left on his own."

"No, don't," objects Emmalynn, frowning. Her misty-blue eyes still remind me of windows with the curtains drawn behind them, shading away the reality of the outside world. It astounds me, the way that the thirteen-year-old can somehow manage to be so out-there, yet make so much sense to me. Perhaps she just looks at the world in the simplest way possible, something that the rest of us fail to do properly. "Even parts of these footprints are washing away. There could have been others. Maybe their prints got washed away, too."

"You'd think it'd look as if there'd been more of a struggle," grumbled Carlisa, who was clearly having issues with trying to see Pine the way Emmalynn did, as an innocent boy who had been dragged away by her attackers in the midnight blackness of the night.

But, adjusting her grip on her bow and sighing heavily, she takes the lead as we follow the footprints towards the forest. As we reach the edge of the trees and are suddenly enveloped in semi-darkness, both Vick and Carlisa fit an arrow to their bows, and I slip a knife from my backpack; Emmalynn shuffles along in the midst of us and refuses to get out one of her own knives ("Who else is going to have come across the desert?" she asks practically). The forest is dim compared to the overly-sunny blue skies above; only dappled droplets of sunlight survive the drop through the thick canopy to the forest floor. Leaves crackle under our feet, and I wonder for the first time if the arenas are found in natural areas and altered to contain cameras and death traps, or if the Gamemakers send their Avox servants out into their synthetic woods to carefully place leaves that have been gathered from around Panem.

I almost laugh out loud at the image that paints itself into my mind of people crawling around the tree trunks there, the fern there, and laying leaves out in patterns that look as though they've naturally fallen from the trees spreading their branches above. I stop the too-cheerful sound from emerging before it's too late, realizing that the darkened surroundings and the general situation aren't the place for such things.

Carlisa stops abruptly and Vick nearly knocks her over. I narrow my eyes at the gap between the trees that we face now. The either perfectly-arranged or naturally-fallen leaves are scattered, some sort of violent encounter haven thrown them all to the side, revealing the dirt and dead grass underneath. Blood, too - I wince at the crimson darkness that has half-dried into the dirt, onto some of the paler leaves.

Vick takes a few steps forward, slowly, cautiously, crouches down and examines the apparent scuffle's remains. "Whoever the other one was came from that way," he says after a long moment, flinging an arm out to point somewhere to my right.

In some sort of slow-moving, dreamlike state, Emmalynn wanders over to wear Vick is gesturing to and looks down at the set of footprints. "They're the same size as Pine's," she says quietly. I can't see what she's thinking. Her face is shielded from view by her hair, by the angle I'm looking at her from. "How do we know who got out?" She looks up at us and her pale blue eyes are sparkling with a sadness that I'm not sure she should possess for her maybe-attacker. Circling the bloodstained miniature battlefield, Emmalynn searches for the tracks leading on.

I stand helplessly, unsure what the strong and mature older-sister type is meant to do in this sort of situation. I'm the younger sister in my family. Am I meant to think like Katniss would for however long I can survive in this arena for?

Perhaps that's the key. Katniss got out, after all.

"This way," says Emmalynn in her nearly-inaudible murmur, and starts off. I take a few running steps to fall into place next to her. We walk in silence aside from the crunching of leaves under our supplied running shoes. For the first time since I've entered the arena, I reach up and move the collar of my jacket aside, allow my fingers to brush over the pin that has been fastened to my shirt. A mockingjay. Katniss told me that they symbolize a sort of strength.

If I get out, I can give my sister her pin back.

If I don't, she will be given a box and have to take it back herself.

The thing is, I don't know if I can win. I'm not sure that I can kill. Katniss has tried to teach me to hunt before, back when we lived in the Seam. Every time she shot something, I would fall to my knees next to its quivering body - back then, she wasn't practiced enough to kill something as quick as a squirrel with one arrow - and start muttering about how we might be able to save it. And people? Killing people will be worse, a million times worse.

I can't tell when the sky above begins to darken. The dots of sunlight begin to disappear, to fade into nothingness, and for a while, I think that we are only delving deeper into the woods. Emmalynn stares at the forest floor, twisting and turning as she follows footprints in the dirt. Occasionally, she stops, hunts around for a few drawn-out minutes before leading us on again. Carlisa helps her, Vick helps her. I don't know enough about tracking to help.

I am helpless. Why do they want me as their ally? Do they think, like a wealthy part of Panem hopefully thinks, that victory is inherited? That I could win by some stroke of luck, just because Katniss got out of the arena five years ago?

The anthem begins to play. My allies stand at the foot of a tree while I hurriedly make my way up the trunk, finding footholds of knots in the wood and forks in the branches. I nearly fall once or twice, hands slipping on rough bark, because I am looking up, always up, into the dark sky, searching for the Capitol's symbol. Yes, there. A picture appears - it takes me a moment to place his face. The boy from District 6, the one who Katniss described as _lethal._ Then the anthem plays again and the sky regains its blackness.

"Pine's still alive," I say breathlessly as I drop to the ground. "Six, the boy from Six. He's gone. That's it." A miniscule number of deaths - singular, death, I suppose - for a day. There are still eleven tributes left. The Capitol will be getting bored. The Gamemakers will want to throw something startling in to draw us together.

Emmalynn breathes a visible sigh of relief. She's a peaceful girl, from what I can tell. I wonder if she has an older sister. Perhaps someone has tried to teach her to hunt before; perhaps she pulled what I did and wanted to heal the victims.

We curl up at the foot of that same tree and Carlisa claims the first watch. She sits with her back against the tree and her small fingers curled tightly around her bow, grey eyes alert as she scans the darkness around us. I shut my eyes -

When I wake, a soft blanket of grey has crept in around us. I sit up; Carlisa's eyes are shut tight, and she has curled up into a tight ball with her extra pair of socks worn like mittens. Emmalynn sleeps soundly next to me.

Vick is nowhere in sight.

"Vick?" I hiss. The blanket of grey is a mist, a fog. I attempt to squint through it, but I can't see well enough. "Vick?" I stand; the mist has risen, too, and there is no way to make sense of the world around me. "Guys," I whisper, crouching down again to shake them awake. "Do you know where Vick went?"

"He took over the watch so I could sleep," mumbled Carlisa tiredly, rubbing her eyes with her right sock. More alert now, she glances around warily and adds, "What...?"

Vick is gone, my promise to Hazelle broken. I wonder if my worried expression is being flashed to on every television screen across Panem. I wonder what Hazelle is thinking. What if he's dead? Wouldn't the cannon have woken us up earlier? The idea is nearly unbearable. I'm not a good enough older-sister figure. I can barely hold myself together at the mere possibilities of Vick's disappearance.

I can't look after him if I don't know where he is.


End file.
